


Anthem in Our Hearts (It Led Us Back to You)

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: And the Time Period, Because Given the Circumstances, Before Emma Was Married Don't Worry, Canonical Character Death, Denise Doesn't Change Her Name, Don't Even Fucking Pretend Otherwise, F/M, Flynn Would be Such a Sexy Ringmaster, Greatest Showman AU, I Don't Think She Would, I Will Fight Everyone on That, I Would Like to Apologize in Advance for the Beginning of This Fic, I've Had the Soundtrack in My Head All Week Because of This, Idiots Idiots Idiots, Jess and Lorena if Anyone was Wondering, Lucy Does Not Help People Cheat, Lucy and Flynn Had So Many Soft Moments, M/M, Mentioned Emma/Lucy, Multi, The Return of Dave/Noah, They Had a Brief Fling, Tightrope is a Goddamn Riya Post-Chinatown Song, Time to Play Find the Song Lyrics, Wyatt is a Fucking Idiot as Per Usual, Yet Another Gay Rarepair For the Win, it hurt me, it's my specialty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 08:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19147480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: When a malicious fire steals all that Wyatt Logan, trapeze artist, and Garcia Flynn, ringmaster, hold dear, they have one hope for salvation: socialite and financial backer Lucy Preston.





	Anthem in Our Hearts (It Led Us Back to You)

“No!”

Flynn flung himself forward, only to be yanked back by Mason the Illusionist and the firefighters yet again. “Lorena! _Lorena!_ Iris!”

“Hold this!” Jess yelled, yanking off the extra bits and bobbles for her trapeze costume, the silks and feathers that so wowed the crowds, and executed a flip, neatly avoiding the grasping hands of the firefighters and darting forward, towards the burning building, right into the flames. “Don’t worry, I’ll get them!”

“Jesus, Jess, no!” Flynn shouted, but it was too late. She was diving in.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Wyatt was never going to forgive him for this.

If Wyatt was still alive. No one had seen him since the fire had started, caused by an angry mob.

Flynn had known that his habit of showcasing society’s unwanted, including acts by people of color, wasn’t exactly popular with everyone. He and Lorena had long talks about it at night, when Iris was asleep. But he hadn’t expected—none of them had expected—

A figure emerged from the alley, coughing, something wrapped in their arms. They were covered head to toe in soot but they looked like—

“Wyatt!?” Flynn yelled.

Wyatt looked up, his face practically gray from the smoke and ash. “Flynn!”

He ran forward, and Flynn realized what—or who—Wyatt was holding.

“Tata?” Iris cried out. Her face was just peeking out from underneath Wyatt’s jacket. He must have thrown it over her to try and protect her from the flames. “Mama!? Tata!?”

The firefighters and Mason finally let go of Flynn as he flung himself at his daughter. “Iris, Iris—”

Wyatt passed her over, then bent over and hacked up a lung. Dhriti, the fortune teller, gently patted him on the back. “Couldn’t—find—Lorena—tried—‘m sorry—”

Iris clung to Flynn, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on so tightly she almost choked him. Flynn didn’t care. He was hugging her back just as tightly. “It’s all right. _To je dobar, mali miš_. Shh, shh, _moja draga, moja mali miš_ , shh, shh, I’ve got you, _to je dobar_.”

He could feel Iris’s chest heaving and hear her sobbing but couldn’t feel any tears falling—the fire had dried them all up. Flynn stroked her hair and braced himself for what he had to say next.

“Wyatt.”

Wyatt looked up, using his jacket to try and wipe the soot off his face. “Yeah?” His eyes scanned the crowd “Jess?” he called.

“…she’s… Jess, she…” Flynn swallowed, then looked at the building.

Wyatt followed his gaze. “No.” He shook his head. “No, I told her—I saw her leave, we were—we were arguing and I saw her leave, she was out, she was _safe_ —”

“She went back in for—for Lorena and Iris, she—”

Wyatt gave a horrid scream and Flynn grabbed him with one arm as Dhriti and Mason managed to grab him on his other side, yanking him back. Flynn wanted to scream too, he wanted to run back into the flames, he wanted to rail against God, he wanted to murder every single one of those spineless bastards who’d started the fire.

But Jiya was shaking Rufus and crying, trying to get him to wake up, Michelle was cradling a traumatized Olivia, everyone was terrified and scared and wounded—and they were all looking to him to do something about it.

Flynn drew himself up, still holding Iris with one hand, and grabbed Wyatt by the back of his head, forcing Wyatt to turn his face, pressing their foreheads together.

“Don’t look at it,” he ordered. “Don’t look at it.”

Wyatt screamed again, anger and anguish mingling. He hit Flynn hard in the shoulder, the one that Iris wasn’t clinging to.

Flynn let him. He pulled Wyatt in closer, let Wyatt yell and yell and yell, as the firefighters fought the flames and finally confirmed what Flynn already knew:

Lorena and Jess were gone.

 

* * *

 

Flynn grew up the son of a seamstress.

Maria Thompson had grown up in the country, in Texas, where she’d loved the big open sky and the stars. But she’d had a boy at a young age, Gabriel, her light and her life, and when she’d lost him, the wide open fields became too wide, scary in their emptiness. The night sky was cold and heartless rather than full of adventure and stories.

She moved to New York City, where she met and married Asher Flynn, an immigrant from Europe, only to lose him to drink just two years after she’d had another boy: Garcia.

Flynn followed his mother from the slums where they lived to the beautiful, spacious houses of the elite. He stood silently, assisting her, as she sewed suits and dresses in the well-appointed parlors that seemed, to Flynn, to come straight out of Heaven.

One house was his favorite.

Because that house had Lorena.

Lorena was Flynn’s age, and sweet as sugarcane, and he was terribly in love with her. Lorena’s parents had some thoughts about that, but Maria had always told Flynn to never give up, and to reach for the stars, and so he had. He’d worked his ass off, and he’d built the circus, showcasing performers that nobody else would take, performers that deserved a shot.

The whole time, he’d written letters to Lorena.

 _I’ll give you the world,_ he promised her, and he’d meant it. He had come to court her once he could walk into that parlor with his head held high, unashamed, her equal, able to give her everything she deserved.

He’d promised her the world, and he’d given it to her. A beautiful big house. Their beautiful daughter. They had been happy.

So, so happy.

And now.

…now.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt Logan had also fled Texas, just like Maria Thompkins—but for very different reasons.

He’d never known his mother. His father, he’d known too much of. He drank, and hit, and scared the shit out of Wyatt. He’d been convinced that he’d die before he turned eighteen.

Jess had other ideas.

Jessica was his best friend growing up. The only good thing in his life, after his grandfather passed on. Unlike Wyatt, Jess didn’t suffer fools or bullies.

When they were fifteen, she’d come over for dinner, and Wyatt’s dad had started getting scary again. Wyatt had frozen, not knowing what to do, but Jess—

Jess had taken the shotgun leaning against the door and had fired point blank.

They couldn’t stick around after that, so they’d gone on the run, and along the way, they’d learned acrobatics. Rope tricks. Wyatt got a job in construction, working on the high rises in New York, and Jess would join him, the two of them learning how to leap from one to the other, to hang upside down, to do flips, to leap and catch one another.

When they’d seen Flynn’s advertisement looking for performers, they’d signed up, and soon, they had fancy costumes, they were moving to music, they were stars.

It was the high life, literally and figuratively, and through it all, he’d had Jess to be his rock, to look after him.

Now what the fuck was he supposed to do?

 

* * *

 

Jiya held Rufus’s hand tightly, nodding at the sympathetic nurse as a glass of water was set on the small side table.

She hadn’t left Rufus’s side the last couple of days, as he’d coughed up a lung, as he’d moaned with pain and nightmares, and now as he slept.

They weren’t sure he’d make it. The smoke inhalation, the doctors said. That was the bad part. The burns, they weren’t too bad. But the damage to his lungs…

Jiya held on, kissing Rufus’s knuckles, and sang softly, hoping, praying, that maybe—just maybe—he’d hear her voice, and follow her back.

_Some people long for a life that is simple, and planned. Tied with a ribbon. Some people won’t sail the sea, ‘cause they’re safer on land, to follow what’s written. But I’d follow you, to the great, unknown. Off to a world we could call our own…_

 

* * *

 

_Hand in my hand and you promised to never let go. We’re walking a tightrope._

 

Dhriti held Iris during the funeral, even though she kept reaching for Flynn. Iris was six, a little too big to be clinging to her parent constantly—at least under normal circumstances—and usually she could be found trying on the costumes of the performers, or giggling as Jess or Wyatt took her up a little bit on the ropes, or playing at being Mason’s assistant.

But now, she just wanted her father.

Flynn wanted to hold her just as much. Wanted to stroke her hair and kiss her cheeks and do something, anything, to try and take her pain away.

Right now, though… right now, he had to carry the casket.

Lorena’s casket.

Wyatt was carrying Jess’s. After some talk—some painful, painful talking—they had decided to have the funerals on the same day. Everyone was struggling to put their life back together after the fire. Flynn didn’t want to take up more of their time than he had to. And besides, it cut down on costs.

That was the other thing.

“I’ll have to sell the house,” he’d told Wyatt quietly. “I’ll fetch a good price for it. That will keep everyone afloat for a while.”

“You can live with me,” Wyatt had responded. “It’s not much but… Iris will have a place. Y’know. That’s what matters. You sure you don’t… you loved that house. It was your dream…”

“It was Lorena’s house. Our dream. That’s gone now.”

Flynn tried not to let himself shake as he lowered the casket. He could see Jess’s casket being lowered as well, just a few feet over.

It felt like his heart was being put in the ground, too.

He barely heard the priest as the sermon was done. Wyatt and Jess weren’t Catholic, but they weren’t particularly anything, and so when Flynn had said he was doing a Catholic funeral for Lorena—she’d always been the one with faith—Wyatt had said sure. Why not.

Flynn stood next to Wyatt and Dhriti, who passed Iris over to him, and he watched as his wife, as his life, as everything he’d accomplished, was buried.

 

_Never sure, never knowing how far you may fall._

 

* * *

 

Jiya had just fallen asleep, her head on the bed beside Rufus’s arm, his hand still firmly in hers, when she felt him move.

She sat up at once. “Rufus?”

Rufus blinked slowly up at her. “Remind me… to ask Dave… how he can do that every performance,” he whispered.

Dave Baumgardner was their fire eater.

Jiya gave a sob, collapsing onto Rufus and hugging him tightly, not sure that she’d ever let him go.

 

* * *

 

_Six Months Later_

 

Lucy Preston tried not to yawn.

The performance was well done, technically. Excellent costuming and set pieces. Her box seat was luxurious, and Noah was, as always, a lovely companion for an evening out.

But she was so. Fucking. _Bored_.

She shouldn’t be bored. She’d produced this play, funded it, she should be ecstatic at the packed theatre, but God. After Father, then Mother, then Amy, she was going alone to an empty house with no purpose other than to uphold the family name and she was so empty inside, echoing in her heart just like her house, and she couldn’t stand it.

Something had to give.

There was a bar, one that Amy used to sneak out to. Lucy didn’t know anyone there, which was, frankly, perfect. She didn’t want anyone to recognize her, for once. Everywhere she went it was Miss Preston this and Miss Preston that, her clothes, her posture, her everything judged down to the most minute detail.

It sickened her.

The bar was, thank God, mostly empty. Lucy signaled the bartender and sat down, ready to get good and properly _plastered_.

Take that, Mother.

Someone—a very handsome someone, tall, dark haired, with some kind of Slavic accent—took the seat next to her. “Whiskey, neat, and she’ll have another of… whatever it is she’s having.”

“She can buy her own drinks, thank you.”

The man looked at her, and Lucy frowned. Something about him was familiar. “I know you.”

“You know of me, most likely.” The drinks were set in front of them and the man downed his. “Garcia Flynn.”

Lucy downed her own drink and signaled for another. Flynn shook his head at the bartender. “She’s good.”

“She is not good. She would like another drink.”

Flynn lowered his voice. “Drinking your way through life isn’t how to deal with your struggles. Trust me, I tried it.”

Lucy snorted. “Before or after your circus burned down?”

“Long before. I was in Brazil. Long story.” Flynn offered his arm. “I’ll walk you home.”

“I can get home by myself.”

“Never said you couldn’t.”

Lucy glared at him, but took his arm. Her relationship with the ground was a little shaky right now.

“You seemed bored at the show tonight,” Flynn commented. “You didn’t like it?”

“I funded it.”

“That’s not answering my question.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” The cool night air sobered her up a little. “I know you’ve got an angle. Everyone does with me.”

“My angle?” Flynn gave an odd, small smile. “My angle is simple: stop by the circus.”

“It burned down.”

“We’re trying to rebuild.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, which was a bad idea when it made her stomach heave. “You want me to fund it, don’t you.”

“I think you’d like it,” Flynn said, and something in his voice—something fond and soft—sounded genuine. “Don’t you want to get away from playing the same old part over and over again? I’ve seen you, Miss Preston. You looked like a bird in a cage tonight. I would take my wife to the theatre plenty of times and tonight you looked… no less… you looked good. As you always do. But you don’t look happy. And maybe it’s crazy, but I think that—plenty of people have found something they needed at my circus. And I think that you might find something you need there as well.”

Lucy snorted. “If I was mixed up with you, I’d be the talk of the town, and not in a good way. Disgraced, disowned by society, another one of your painted clowns.”

“But you could also live,” Flynn replied. “In a way that you’re not living now. You don’t have any freedom here, not even to dream. What kind of life is that?”

Flynn stopped walking, and Lucy realized they were in front of her house. “I think a deal that cures your aching and gets you out of your cage is a deal that’s worth taking, whatever else it might cost you. But perhaps that’s just me. I guess I’ll leave that choice up to you.”

He stepped away from her, and Lucy grabbed the front door knocker as her world swam a little. “And if I was interested?” she asked.

“Then stop by the theatre, tomorrow at noon.”

“You don’t have a theatre. You have a shell.”

“I’ve started more with less,” Flynn replied, and then he was gone into the night.

 

 

* * *

 

Wyatt followed Flynn into the shell of the theatre hall. “She’s not going to come,” he informed him.

“Of course she is.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “How are you such a goddamn mess except when it comes to selling someone something?”

Flynn entered the main arena, the ring where they all performed, and looked up at the ropes. “You certain these will hold?”

“We use them for construction. For building. They’re gonna hold.”

Flynn tugged on one experimentally. He knew how to help set them up, how to assist in the performance—Flynn insisted on knowing as much about each performance as he could. “We need her, Wyatt,” he said quietly. “We can’t fail.”

Wyatt walked over, standing next to him, his heart racing. He’d always thought that Flynn was… well. He should’ve been on stage, as more than just a ringmaster. He should’ve been dazzling audiences in marquees with a face, a body, a demeanor like that. But he had never let himself think about it. He loved Jess, and Flynn was a man besides.

But now—he couldn’t help but look a little longer than he had before.

“We’ll figure it out,” he replied. He didn’t know how, but they had to. They would.

Flynn looked at him, his eyes dark and soft, and Wyatt felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “I worry you have too much faith in me,” he said quietly.

“Given how I was a dick to you the first six months we knew each other, I think it’s what you’re owed,” Wyatt replied, finding that his voice was just as hushed, as if they were in a sacred place, a sacred moment.

Flynn silently passed him the rope, and Wyatt took it, expecting Flynn to let go—except he didn’t, leaving the two of them holding on together, their fingers overlapping.

Wyatt thought his heart was going to leap right out of his throat.

“Hello?”

Miss Preston.

Both of them stepped back like the rope burned them, turning to see Lucy Preston tentatively entering the ring. “Sorry, I—I called out but—um. The door was open.”

God, she was beautiful. But nothing at all like most socialites Wyatt had seen. She seemed grounded, tentative, an odd combination of soft sunshine and hard angles.

“Miss Preston.” Flynn held his hand out, and Wyatt’s throat went tight as Lucy took it, her small, pale hand settling into Flynn’s large, tanned, work-roughened one. “I promised to show you what this place is. What it can be again.”

“I should have known I wouldn’t be shown into an office,” Lucy replied dryly, guided by Flynn to wrap her hands around the rope.

Flynn gave her a warm look, and Wyatt’s stomach tightened. Oh, Flynn liked her. He _really_ liked her.

It made an odd heat surge in Wyatt’s chest. He’d known Flynn for years, he was Flynn’s closest friend, he’d let Flynn move into his apartment with Iris, they slept in the same room, did everything together—

But at the same time, he couldn’t blame Flynn. Not when it was this woman. Wyatt could feel himself lured already into her sphere, under her influence, and it was no wonder that she was able to persuade people to hand over money to go and see theatrical shows.

“I figure,” Flynn said, nodding at Wyatt, “if you get to experience this place the way that we do, you’ll know why we love it so much, and you’ll be persuaded to help fund it.”

Wyatt gripped his rope tightly in one hand and reached out to Lucy with the other. “Hold onto me,” he told her.

Lucy stepped up to him, looping an arm around his neck, her chest pressed to his.

Jesus Christ.

Lucy shot a doubtful look at Flynn, her eyebrows raised.

“I’ve got you down here,” Flynn assured her. “Wyatt’s got you up there. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

Lucy tightened her grip on Wyatt. “All right,” she said. “Go on then.”

Flynn released the weights, and they went shooting up into the air.

Lucy shrieked, burying her face in Wyatt’s chest, her nails digging into him. “It’s okay,” he told her. “You’re all right. I’ve got you.”

After a moment, she tentatively looked around.

“I’m going to swing, okay?” Wyatt kept his arm around her waist. “I’ve still got you. Ready?”

Lucy nodded.

Wyatt swung, letting go of one rope and catching himself on another. Lucy shrieked again, but then gasped as Wyatt caught himself.

“You can do it too,” he encouraged. “You’ve got your own rope. Go on. I’ll give you a push, you just hold on, and you’ll swing around and I’ll catch you again.”

Lucy nodded, and Wyatt pushed her.

She swung around, and halfway around burst out into ecstatic giggles, a delighted smile on her face. Wyatt’s heart took off at breakneck speed as he watched her, his stomach swooping, and when he caught her as she sailed back to him, he felt like something else was flying out of him.

Flying into her.

“Can we do more?” Lucy asked, breathless. “Can we?”

“She wants to do more, Flynn!” Wyatt called down.

“Go ahead!”

Lucy’s face was pure delight.

By the time Wyatt got them lowered back to the ground, Lucy looked like she might faint. “That was amazing,” she gushed. She kissed Wyatt on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Was this what having a heart attack felt like?

“Thank you,” Lucy added to Flynn. “I—if society knew—my mother would turn over in her grave.”

“Do you care what society wants? Or do you want to go for what you want?”

Lucy’s eyes darkened, saddened, her face falling. “I… certain things are fixed, Flynn. Like the stars.”

“Then rewrite them,” Flynn challenged. “Do you want this place to live?”

Lucy looked around, up at the rafters, the ropes, the empty shell that had once been a thriving theatre. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Then let it live,” Flynn replied.

Staring at them, Wyatt didn’t know who he wanted to clutch to him more.

 

* * *

 

Lucy wandered around the back of the remains of the theatre, wondering at what it had once looked like, wondering what it could look like with funding and proper repair.

Amy would have loved this place.

“Are you lost?” someone asked.

Lucy jumped in surprise, then turned to find a tan-skinned woman with thick, straight dark hair and knowing eyes staring at her.

“I—I’m sorry,” Lucy stammered. “I didn’t… um. You are?”

“Dhriti,” the woman replied. “Dhriti Sirivastava.”

“Oh. I’m Lucy, Lucy Preston.”

Dhriti inclined her head. “I hear you’re going to possibly fund us.”

“I’ve been… thinking about it, yes.”

Another woman walked up, two teenagers running past her. “Olivia! Mark! Slow down!” Dhriti called. “My apologies,” she added to Lucy. “My children are rowdy.”

“They get that from you,” the second woman said. She was tall, dark skinned, with thick curling hair. She smiled at Lucy. “I’m Michelle.”

Lucy shook her hand. “Lucy Preston. Are those… your children?”

Michelle and Dhriti glanced at each other. “…yes,” Michelle said, carefully. “Dhriti is the fortune teller here. I make and repair the costumes.”

“That’s lovely,” Lucy said. “But—what are you doing while this is… well. How are you surviving?”

She saw both women relax a little. “We’re making do,” Dhriti said. “Michelle takes in work as a seamstress. I tell fortunes on the street, but it’s not as much money.”

“The circus was a godsend. Gave us a steady income, a place for the children.” Michelle folded her arms. “We were celebrated here, loved for who we were. We found others like us. Jiya, our magician’s assistant, she has visions. Similar to Dhriti’s fortune telling. We’re of all… sizes and shapes, if you see what I mean. We were safe here.”

Lucy knew what it was to not be allowed to be herself. To not feel safe. To want an escape, a harbor, a haven.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I’m going to talk to Flynn.”

He was in what had once been one of the stands, now just a bare dirt area, talking with Wyatt. The two men were standing only an inch apart, Flynn’s hand wrapped around Wyatt’s bicep.

“Oh.” Lucy paused. She. Well. She’d rather liked being in Wyatt’s arms earlier, and the way he’d assured her he’d keep her safe. And Flynn was—magnetic. Something about him made her unable to look away.

But of course, if they were… well.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt a private moment.”

“It wasn’t,” Flynn said quickly.

“Oh, no, it’s all right. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m happy with whatever… you know. Team you play ball for.” Lucy could feel her face heating up. “I play for both, so.”

“Oh my God,” Wyatt blurted out.

“Um, ah, we, no.” Flynn looked like he was considering hanging himself with one of the dangling trapeze ropes. “No, we’re not—we’re just—Wyatt and I are close friends. He’s being very kind and letting my daughter and me stay with him.”

“I thought—I heard you had a—”

“I sold it,” Flynn said. “To make sure my employees could pay their rent. They’ve still had to get temporary jobs but it’s helped.”

“Live with me,” Lucy burst out before she could stop herself. “It’s—it’s too big, my house, I’m all alone, and your daughter—well it’d be lovely for her, I’m sure, and then—we could—better work together on. On the renovations.”

“You’re sponsoring us?” Wyatt asked, hope in his voice.

“Yes,” Lucy said, nodding. “I am. And I’m—I’m dreadfully sorry that I thought—you two just seemed so close, I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Flynn said quickly.

“I was married,” Wyatt said, his voice blunt and harsh. “I had a wife. Named Jess. She died in the fire.”

Without warning, he turned and walked away.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said.

“Thank you,” Flynn replied. “For the—and yes, Iris would—that’s my daughter—I—would you excuse me?”

Then he took off after Wyatt.

 

 

* * *

 

Wyatt fled the room the second that Lucy was gone. Flynn tore after him. “Wyatt—Wyatt what the fuck?”

He grabbed a hold of Wyatt’s wrist. “Fucking hell, is the idea of being with me so goddamn offensive?”

Wyatt whirled back around as Flynn tugged on him. “It’s not—it’s not _you_ , God, fuck’s sake.” He wrenched his arm out of Flynn’s grip. “Once—once, yeah, a few years ago, yeah, I would’ve—I still—I struggle, yeah, with you—you’re a man and I’m a man and—but I mean, look at Denise and Michelle. How could I judge them—so how could I judge myself for—for feeling—” Wyatt shook his head.

Flynn dared to step closer, watching as Wyatt’s chest heaved and his eyes got wide like he was close to a panic attack.

“But Jess died six months ago, Flynn, six months ago! I can’t—how could I—what if the only reason I love you is because she died, I knew you for so long before, and—I can’t—she was always there for me, how could I—how—”

“Wyatt.” Flynn grabbed his shoulders. “Look at me. Look, Lorena was the faithful one, all right? The one who believed. The one who went to church every Sunday. I didn’t, I don’t, know how to do that. I’ve been wondering my whole life. But you can’t—you can’t keep going what if. You keep doing that, you’ll go crazy.”

Wyatt yanked his arm out of Flynn’s grip. “I can’t—I can’t, I did so wrong by her, you know all the times I was—fuck you know all the times you had to get me from a bar, all the arguments we had, all the times I was so—so jealous, she—she stood by me, Flynn!”

“And you think that, what, being a martyr after her death is going to fix things? For fuck’s sake, Wyatt!” Flynn ran a hand through his hair, anger and frustration and pain coursing through him like thick black oil, about to be set alight. “Jess wouldn’t want you to be miserable and she’d consider it a damn poor excuse to use her to keep yourself that way. You want to do better—do better by me, by Lucy, by the people who are still around!”

“I can’t,” Wyatt choked out. He shook his head. “I can’t, I can’t, _Garcia_ , I can’t.”

He turned and fled the room, leaving Flynn to breathe in the dust and almost wish that it would smother him.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt was wrapping his hands for practice when Lucy entered. “Um, hi.” She waved.

God, she was beautiful. Wearing a white dress with gold trim, like an angel, far above the dirt and grime of the world they lived in.

Then, sometimes she’d get a look in her eyes and Wyatt would think, no, not an angel—there was a vixen lurking in there as well.

And now—now she was waving, entering with a slight air of apprehension, something awkward and nervous about her, and Wyatt couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t even begin to settle on how to feel about her, the roulette wheel of personality traits that was Lucy Preston.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asked, walking over. “I only—you need a partner for your act, don’t you?”

“I can manage on my own.”

Lucy held out her hands. “May I?”

It took him an embarrassingly long moment to realize what she meant. Then he held out his hands, and Lucy began wrapping them up.

“My sister was always getting into fights,” she said quietly. “She’d slip into the servants’ quarters and play with the cook’s children. Go running out in the streets. Get into scrapes. Tried to join the newsies, had her first kiss with a chimney sweep. I patched her up, got her presentable when it came time for dinner.”

Silence fell as Lucy diligently worked. Wyatt wanted, needed, to fill it, before it swelled and burst and he did something stupid, like took Lucy’s hands in his and fell to his knees and kissed her knuckles. Jess was his best friend before anything else, and Flynn was bruised knuckles and anger and fire and dangerous, dangerous heat that raged in his gut, made him stupid, but Lucy—Lucy was worship.

“Your sister can come see the show,” he said. “She sounds like she’d enjoy it.”

“She would,” Lucy agreed, an odd note in her voice. “Truth be told, for all of Flynn’s pretty words… and he’s a very good salesman… that’s why I decided to come on board. When I was up there in the air with you—I’ve never felt so alive.” She looked up into Wyatt’s eyes. “I knew it was something Amy would have loved. And I knew it was something she’d want me to do.”

Wyatt’s heart sank. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

Lucy nodded.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Lucy looked away, her eyes shining too brightly. “Yes. Well. I was hoping—it’s not much, but keeping a place like this alive… I’m just trying to do what she’d want. Things that would make her happy.”

She looked back at him. “I was hoping that I could—I could join you. Up there. Please. You need a partner, and it’s still a month until we reopen and I’m a fast learner, really I am. I want—I want to fly again.”

Wyatt knew well the addiction. That first moment when he’d swung across on a rope in an empty building, the wind screaming in his ears, Jess laughing on the other side going _come on, try it, come on_ … the terror of possibly dropping, falling, dying, hadn’t meant a thing. Not compared to the swoop in his gut and the impossible, beautiful feeling of weightlessness.

God dammit. He’d promised himself that he would keep his distance from her, from Flynn, that he wouldn’t, he wasn’t, going to give into temptation, but… but when she said it was for her sister, when she looked at him with those sweet dark eyes…

How could he say no?

Wyatt nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll teach you.”

Lucy threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

 

* * *

 

Lucy took a deep breath to steel herself before entering Flynn’s office.

Flynn was… a mess. Truly an absolute mess. She knew that now, knew that the slick salesman with his master of languages, his smirks, his bows, was all for show. All for the audience.

The real Flynn was devoted to his daughter, to his circus, constantly sleep deprived, cranky, putting his foot in his mouth, and shockingly soft-hearted.

Lucy adored him.

Not that Flynn knew that. Or needed to know that. Ever.

But right now—now, despite all the trust she had worked to earn with him, all that she’d been doing to make sure that he knew she was behind the circus one hundred percent, that he could trust her with his world just as she could trust him with her money—now, it all might go up in flames.

Lucy walked into the office. “Flynn?”

He was going over finances—of course he was. When was he doing anything else? As construction and clean up went on, Flynn went over every detail ten times with a fine-toothed comb, more meticulous than Carol ever had been with her household accounts.

“Yes?” He swept the papers to the side at once, giving her his full attention.

Flynn’s full attention always made her breath catch in her throat. “I…” Words. She knew what words were. “I want to speak to you about… about Wyatt.”

“Is he giving you a hard time? Pushing you too hard?”

“No, no!” Lucy sat down across from him. “No, I love the trapeze, it’s—it’s amazing, I feel alive up there. I never want to be on solid ground again.”

Flynn gave her this soft smile that, on anyone else, Lucy would dare to call adoring. But on Flynn…

Well. She suspected she knew where Flynn’s adoration was, and it wasn’t with her. It was with Iris and with a certain bullheaded impulsive stupid trapeze artist whose name started with a W.

“I just wanted to know why you and he aren’t speaking.” Lucy clutched at the folds of her pants so that Flynn wouldn’t see her trembling. She’d never been very good at confrontation, but she was getting better at standing up for herself. Ironically, with Flynn’s encouragement. She still had to wear those heavy, layered dresses around town but here, in the circus, she could wear what she wanted, and she had to wear flexible clothes for practice. “It’s been months since I started here, and you two haven’t talked to one another in that whole time. As your financer, I need to know if there are an personal problems that will affect the professional work. That will affect the show.”

Flynn looked appalled. “My personal problems will never affect the show.”

“So there are personal problems.”

“No, there aren’t.”

“Then why aren’t you speaking to him? Did you have an argument?”

“Wyatt had an argument. I was being perfectly reasonable.”

“Reasonable, maybe. Talking at a normal decibel level, I doubt.”

Flynn snorted. “Wyatt is being a blockhead, he’s refusing to budge—”

“On what?”

“On…” Flynn swallowed and she heard his throat clicking. “Look. Wyatt thinks moving on is… he… he’s obsessed with Jess. Obsessed with her death and with how he didn’t do right by her. I won’t go into details, it’s not my place, but Wyatt struggled to be… to be the kind of husband, partner, that Jess deserved. And now he feels guilty and he…”

Flynn stood up, pacing. “It’s nothing, it’s just—a difference of opinion. About—about moving on, from a loved one.”

“Moving on?”

Flynn waved a hand in the air. “Moving on. With—doesn’t matter with or how just, he needs to let go. Or it’ll consume him. And I understand it, I do. Lorena…” He stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. “Lorena was the woman I loved since childhood. I wrote her letters for ten years as I earned my way after my mother died, started this business, to give her the life she deserved. Nobody could replace her.”

Lucy’s heart sank.

“O-of course,” she managed to stutter. It felt like she was drowning. Like the floor had opened up and was about to swallow her.

“But he’s punishing himself, and that’s not helping him or anyone.”

“No, of course. But you have to talk to him, Flynn.”

Flynn snorted again. “You can talk to him, if you think it’ll do any good.”

“Wyatt doesn’t want to talk to me. You’re his friend, you’ve known him for years.”

“Friend. Right. That’s what I am.” Flynn’s tone was so bitter that Lucy could taste it, like coffee grounds in the back of her throat. “I have work to do, Miss Preston, so if you don’t mind…”

Lucy stood up. “No, of course. Forgive me for intruding on… matters that are not my own.”

Flynn looked startled for a moment, then like he wanted to punch himself in the face. “I—Miss Preston—”

“I’ll just—see myself out—”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” How could she tell him that the true hurt wasn’t his curt comment but his earlier statement?

_Nobody could replace her._

Lucy forced a smile onto her face, then hurried out of the room.

 

* * *

 

“You look rather distressed,” Noah noted as he waited at the carriage.

Noah had been her fiancé, once upon a time. An arrangement of mutual convenience, for the sake of society, of their families, and of their personal… safety.

But after Amy’s death, Lucy couldn’t keep it up. She couldn’t pretend any longer. Amy wouldn’t have wanted her to, and now that her sister was gone, it was as though Lucy’s last shield had vanished with her and now—now she had to live enough for two people.

Noah was still a dear friend, though. Her only friend, honestly, until the circus. The only person to whom she could tell everything.

“I’d greatly appreciate you taking me to dinner and telling me all the gossip while I say nothing all evening,” Lucy replied, starting to get into the carriage.

“Ah, ah,” Noah said, taking her arm and guiding her back down. “What’s wrong, Lucy? Honestly?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something. Has one of those men you’re always going on about being boorish? I can challenge one of them to a duel, are duels still a thing nowadays?”

“Noah, sometimes you really are so very gay I can’t even stand it.”

“Well so are you, dear, unless that was a different brunette I saw kissing the lovely Miss Whitmore last year backstage—”

“Oh, hush.” Emma Whitmore was a famous singer. Lucy had a small crush on her. Things had happened. “It’s very simple, Noah, I have feelings and they don’t.”

“Mmm.” Noah looked disbelieving. “I’ll go ask them, shall I?”

“What—no! Noah!”

Noah started to walk into the theatre. Lucy tore after him. “Noah, you can’t—why don’t—how about—”

“Lucy, who’s this?”

Lucy froze as Jiya walked up, smiling. “A friend?”

“Ah, Jiya, meet Noah, Noah, this is Jiya, she’s the magician’s assistant and a… a clairvoyant.”

“I read people’s minds,” Jiya replied.

“Can you really?”

Jiya shrugged. “Maybe. You’ll have to come to the show and find out.”

Noah chuckled.

“Jiya, Rufus is asking for you, he needs help with…” Dave emerged from another side door, already in costume.

Noah’s jaw dropped open.

Lucy bit her lip hard to stifle her laugh. Dave’s costume was a pair of skintight pants and an open vest with no sleeves, showing off his chest and arms. Michelle had sewn the shape of flames into the fabric to fit his theme.

“Hey, Miss Preston, I thought you left.” Dave walked over, grinning. “Wyatt gets all mopey when you’re not around.”

Noah didn’t even bother sending Lucy an _I told you so_ look, too busy gaping at Dave.

“Dave, this is Noah. Noah, this is Dave,” Lucy said. “Dave is our fire eater.”

“You—what?” Noah sounded confused but also turned on.

Dave’s gaze slowly drew up Noah’s body. “I could do a little demonstration for you,” he offered.

Noah swallowed. “Um, yeah, I’d love that.”

Jiya and Lucy locked eyes and both held their breaths to avoid laughing.

“So I take you’ll be helping to financially support the circus as well?” Jiya asked sweetly.

Noah wasn’t even paying attention as Dave lead him away.

“I’m not seeing him for the rest of the weekend, am I?” Lucy asked.

“Nope,” Jiya said. “Absolutely not.”

 

 

* * *

 

Rufus walked right into Flynn’s office.

Flynn didn’t look up from his papers. “Thanks for knocking, Rufus.”

“What the fuck did you say to her?” Rufus demanded.

Flynn’s head shot up, startled. “I—what?”

“What did you say to Lucy? Because she leaves all upset, and Jiya tells me that she’s considering leaving and sponsoring Miss Whitmore’s tour of the states.”

Flynn felt like the world was tilting to the side. “What!?”

Rufus slammed the door shut as Flynn shot to his feet. “You idiot. She’s still going to fund everything, but she’s going to _leave_. As in, not be here. Because you and that other idiot are being complete fucking morons with bricks for brains and aren’t making her feel valued, and Miss Whitmore is a clever fucking woman and knows how to flatter the right people and possibly was also flirting with Lucy, I couldn’t really tell—”

“Did Whitmore marry Nicholas Keynes, that industrialist?”

“Because married people never have affairs,” Rufus said, deadpan. “Listen. I don’t know what the hell you two did wrong, but you need to fix it. Lucy is the best fucking thing that ever happened to either of you or to this place and no, I’m not saying that Lorena and Jess weren’t amazing because they were, but if you let her leave, I for one am not gonna forgive you and I don’t think anyone else is either.”

Flynn gaped at him. “I—what—shall I—should I go—”

“Yes! Yes you sack of mashed potato for brains! Go! Jesus, are your ears filled with cotton!?”

Rufus literally shoved him out the door.

Flynn walked to Lucy’s house in a daze. It was a lovely house, similar to the one he’d had with Lorena, the kind of house that Lucy—that Iris—deserved.

He was shown in by a footman, and immediately heard footsteps on the stairs that led down into the foyer where he stood.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not quite ready, I—”

Lucy hurried down the steps, a vision in dark red, her hair still undone and tumbling around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed—and she froze on the last step as she looked up and saw Flynn.

“Miss Preston.”

“Flynn.” Lucy looked torn. “I—I thought you were—my friend was coming to pick me up tonight. He was to—to take me to the theatre. To see a show.”

Flynn swallowed. It felt like all the air had gone out of the room. “I heard that you were leaving us.”

“I—how did—I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Jiya said she knew.”

Lucy shook her head in bewilderment. “Perhaps she truly can read minds.”

“Perhaps.”

Lucy stayed where she was, and Flynn dared to take a few steps towards her. “Why?”

“Why am I—I thought I wasn’t—wanted. Wyatt wanted to do his act alone in the first place, I was the one who insisted I be a part of it. And I’m not truly one of you, am I? I was raised in… this.” Lucy gestured around her.

“So was Lorena. She loved the circus.”

“Lorena.” Lucy gave him a small, sad smile. “I am sorry—I know I’ve said that a lot but—she would be so happy to see it reopening.”

“She would be,” Flynn acknowledged. “But we—we do need you, Lucy. We want you there.”

Lucy cocked her head. “Do you want me there?”

Flynn stared at her. What? “Of course I do.”

Lucy looked away. “I thought I was simply… a benefactor. I don’t need to be there when it opens.”

Flynn frowned at her. “Miss Preston, even if you were simply a benefactor to me, you’re not to everyone else.”

Lucy looked like she was being strangled. “I don’t care about everyone else,” she whispered, like she was on the brink of fainting but had to get the words out.

“Well, you’re—you’re not simply a—a benefactor to me.”

“What am I, then?” Lucy bit her lip, like she regretted saying it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—my hair—I have to—”

“Lucy.” Flynn grabbed her wrist. “Lucy, wait.”

Lucy froze, turning slowly back to face him. She looked half hopeful, half despairing.

God help him, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It had been a month of pining after her and she was looking at him like she was prepared for rejection and maybe she didn’t feel the same way but she also apparently was going to leave right after a conversation where he’d said that—oh God where she must have thought—

“The love I had for my wife was irreplaceable,” he managed. “Just as she was irreplaceable. But you—you are irreplaceable. It’s—I—I never meant for you to think that—”

He was stumbling, failing, Lucy was looking at him in confusion—

“I love you,” he blurted out. “And it’s—unique, because you’re unique, but I—I love you, Lucy, I’m—”

Lucy gave a soft sob and then launched herself forward, kissing him.

Flynn caught her, stumbling back, holding onto her tightly as they swayed on the spot, Lucy’s feet off the ground.

“I love you,” Lucy whispered. “I love—I love—I love—”

She kept kissing him, so she never finished the sentence.

 

* * *

 

Lucy didn’t even bother getting out of her costume.

She ran, the roar of applause still ringing in her ears, to the back of the theatre where Flynn always hid, among the crates and boxes, terrified in case the audience hated it.

“They loved it!” She cried out, jumping him, knowing he’d catch her and kissing him when he did. “They loved it, they loved it, it’s opening night and they loved it, Garcia—”

She kissed him again, and again, until she was clawing at the dazzled, embroidered red suit he wore as the ringmaster, until he was shoving her tights down and her skirt to the side, pressing her back among the crates, until she could dig her hands into his hair and press his mouth to her breasts and he could bury himself in her and thrust hard, over and over—

Lucy didn’t know if she was high on the crowd, high on the high-flying, high on love, or high on all three as she shuddered and cried out and came.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt slammed the crate down.

“What did that thing ever do to you?” Flynn snapped.

“None of your business,” Wyatt snapped back.

Flynn glared at him. “You ever going to drop the attitude?”

“You two do realize you’ve been arguing for three months and counting,” Mason drawled from where he was demonstrating to Iris how to pretend to saw a person in half.

“It’s true,” Iris added.

Guilt tugged at Wyatt’s chest. “Don’t worry, little mouse, I’m not mad at you. You’re still our princess.”

“I know, Uncle Wyatt.” Iris beamed at him, one tooth missing from the grin, lost while eating dinner last night at Lucy’s.

Lucy’s, where Wyatt and Flynn and Iris were all still staying. Did they really think that sneaking back and forth between each other’s bedrooms was going to go unnoticed? Did they really think what Wyatt didn’t know?

Last night had been their opening, their first show since the fire, and all Wyatt could think about instead of the triumph was how he’d seen Lucy and Flynn afterwards, gasping and moaning, intertwined in the dark.

God how he’d wanted to be there with them.

“My office,” Flynn said with a glare. “Now.”

Wyatt tried not to shiver at the demanding growl in Flynn’s voice. Dammit, it was his instinct to follow Flynn’s orders, and to find them, well, annoyingly attractive.

He entered the office, slamming the door behind them for good measure.

Flynn looked like his head might explode. “What the _fuck_ is your problem, did you just decide to be a brat for the rest of your life?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be a brat if you took two seconds to understand where I was coming from—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wyatt.” Flynn stormed up to him, until he was barely an inch away. “I’m sorry if you think I’m betraying Lorena by daring to have feelings for you, and feelings for Lucy, but I will not, I will _not_ be dragged down into martyrdom with you just because you think you need to punish yourself for not being perfect. Could you have done better with Jess? Yeah. But Jess isn’t here now! So fucking do better with us! With me!”

“You took one look at Lucy and you fell for her!”

“And you didn’t?”

“You didn’t—how was it so easy for you, how—”

“It wasn’t easy, you bastard, it was so fucking hard. It was so hard—I stayed up at night, wondering—how could I move on, and was it okay to move on, how would Iris feel about it—she loves you, she loves Lucy, but could she really—I tore myself apart for weeks convinced she would never love me back, that I wasn’t worth it, and then you— _you_ —”

“I didn’t realize you were so goddamn cut up about me.”

“Of course I’m cut up about you, God knows why, you stupid—” Flynn grabbed him, and Wyatt started to say something about how Flynn was the stupid one, but then—then—

Well, it was rather hard to say _you’re stupid_ when someone else’s tongue was in his mouth.

“I don’t care,” Flynn whispered in a rush. “I don’t care, how or why, all I know is you and I, we’ve been in this since the beginning. And Lorena is gone and Jess is gone and as much as we love them we don’t get them back but I do have you, and I don’t know when I started to look at you differently but I do and I can’t sit here and think about what if we were on a different timeline, what if it was different, because that’s not this timeline. All I have is here and now, with you, with Lucy, so please, _please_ , I don’t know when I became so—so entwined with you but Wyatt, pull your head out of your goddamn ass for two seconds and let yourself be fucking happy, with me, with us.”

“What if I mess it up again?” Wyatt asked, his voice cracking, shattering, betraying his fear.

“Then we’ll tell you you’re messing up, and you’ll do better, and you’ll listen. Because you learned from before, with Jess.”

Wyatt nodded, and somehow he was crying, and then he was kissing Flynn again and it felt like he was literally breathing Flynn in and oh, _oh_ , it was like coming home, like his heart was beating out Flynn’s name.

 

* * *

 

Lucy blinked her eyes open as warm sunlight slanted through the open curtains. It was cold out, snow having fallen in the night, but in bed she felt warm and secure.

That might have had something to do with the men on either side of her.

Flynn held her firmly against his chest, her head tucked underneath his chin, while Wyatt was facing her, his chest barely an inch from her mouth and their legs tangled up. If she looked up, she could see that Wyatt and Flynn’s foreheads pressed together.

Mmm. Lucy snuggled in deeper. The perfect morning to just sleep in and…

“Tata!”

The bedroom doors flew open and Flynn let out an undignified squawking noise as Iris bounded onto the bed.

Lucy made sure to yank the covers up over Wyatt, who’d kicked his mostly off in his sleep. None of them were wearing pajamas.

“Tata, Tata, look!” Iris scrambled up, completely unfazed by Uncle Wyatt and Miss Lucy in bed with her father, and brandished a newspaper triumphantly.

Wyatt opened his eyes blearily, squinted, then sighed like a martyr being led to the lions. “Iris, c’mon, we’re tryin’a sleep.”

“But look!” Iris flapped the newspaper.

Flynn sat up, careful not to move any covers and reveal the, uh, state of undress they were all in. “Okay, _mali miš_ , okay.”

He took the paper from her and Lucy rolled over to watch as Flynn read the front page, Iris bouncing on the mattress all the while.

Lucy saw the headline over his arm, and poked Wyatt. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

“Don’ wanna.”

“We’re in the papers.”

“What?” Wyatt sat up, rubbing at his eyes, and Lucy squeaked and slid down under the covers so that Iris wouldn’t get an eyeful of bare breasts.

Not that there was anything wrong with that but, well. Iris was six. And Lucy didn’t think Flynn was up to explaining to her why they were all naked.

The headline said _Circus Returns_ and was detailing the opening night from last night.

“They liked it,” Flynn said, his voice awed. “They really liked it.”

“Of course they liked it,” Lucy replied, even as relief flooded her. They liked it, they were successful, they had done it.

“I told you!” Iris crowed. “I told you, didn’t I, Uncle Wyatt, I told him!”

“Yeah, little mouse, you did,” Wyatt replied, his voice scratchy with sleep. “Why don’t you go put on some breakfast clothes and we can all go eat, huh?”

Iris nodded and scrambled off the bed, then paused, climbed back on, and kissed Flynn on the cheek. “Are you happy, Tata?”

Flynn smiled at her, and Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. The smile lit up his entire face, warm and genuine, in a way that Lucy had once worried he would never be capable of—a smile of contentment, of true, simple joy. “I am, _draga_. I am happy.”

Iris beamed, then scrambled off the bed again, scampering for the door. She did, however, pause one last time, to look back at them.

“So does this mean you’re going to sleep with Uncle Wyatt and Miss Lucy every night?”

Flynn’s eyes went wide. Beside her, Lucy heard Wyatt choking on air.

“…yes,” Flynn said carefully. “If they want me to. And if it’s okay with you.”

Lucy leaned over, kissing his shoulder. Of course she wanted to. She wanted him always, forever, eternally.

Iris nodded. “Are they my new parents?”

“Ah…” Flynn winced. “We’ll… get back to that. They’re—they’re family, Iris. And they won’t ever replace Mama, or the bond you had with her, okay? But they are—family, in their own way.”

Lucy gave Iris a wave and then nearly smacked herself in the forehead for it.

Iris waved back. “Okay! Great! I want breakfast.”

Then she slipped out the door.

Flynn collapsed onto the pillows, clutching at his chest. “Oh, darling.” Lucy kissed his nose. “Don’t be so dramatic. It was fine.”

“You’re blushing,” Flynn pointed out dryly.

Wyatt leaned over and draped himself over Flynn’s chest. “I… I didn’t have the best role model. But. You know I’d. I love Iris, you know that, right?”

Flynn petted Wyatt’s hair. “We’re going to… to figure it out as we go,” he said. Lucy saw him swallow. “I love you. Both of you. And I love her, and I know Iris loves both of you, admires you, and so we’ll… we’ll figure it out.”

“This is home,” Lucy said softly. “We might not know the shape of it yet, but it’s home. That’s what matters.”

Flynn looked up at her, eyes shining, and Lucy leaned down, kissing him.

Others might not understand it. They might turn their noses up at it. Outright judge it. But Lucy didn’t care.

She finally had a home.


End file.
